


Red Lips, Fingertips

by lforevermore



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alpha Geoff, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Everyone Is An Asshole, Fake AH Crew, Geoff is kind of an asshole, M/M, Omega Gavin, Omega Michael, Oral Sex, gta verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff finds them in a strip club, dancing for money out of desperation - there's no way that he's going to let his boys owe money to anyone but him. But he's just a man, after all, and not a good one - one thing leads to another and they strike up a deal. Michael and Gavin will dance only for him, and he'll pay off their debt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm nervous about this one. Because stripper AUs are not usually my thing but this idea wouldn't let me go. Routine is to "Dark Horse" by Katy Perry. Also Geoff is kind of an asshole.
> 
> Follow at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

The club smells of cigarette smoke and booze, alcohol going past Geoff on trays carried by skimpily dressed omegas and a few betas, here and there. There’s a beta working the bar, Geoff can tell, and an omega dancing onstage. Mostly there are throngs of people, at tables and booths, circled around the stage and around the various cages throughout the club. The bouncer waves him through without asking for a cover charge – he’s Geoff fucking Ramsey, after all, he could _own_ this place if he wanted it.

Above him, pounding through the speakers, someone is singing about getting closer together at a rapid fire pace. Geoff lights his own cigarette, blows the smoke in and out again as he glances toward the stage.

Cute, dressed like a ladybug. Not his type.

He snags a waiter, a pretty omega with platinum blond hair. “A private booth, please,” he says.

“Sure thing, sir,” the omega nods, and leads him to one of the booths in the back. Again, not his type, and so far the night isn’t looking hopeful.

To be fair, Geoff can appreciate a good dancer whether he’s turned on or not, so it’s not like the night will be a waste. It’s just that it’s his first night off in awhile, heist after heist to plan and execute over the past two weeks, and he wants…

Well, what he wants he can’t have. What he wants is Michael biting his lip and glaring at him from between his legs, or Gavin curled up naked in his bed. Or both of them together. Preferably both of them together.

But Geoff is no fool, and he’s absolutely certain that trying to get in between the two omegas would be something akin to a death wish. Seriously, he knows that Michael could blow his entire apartment building sky-high, or Gavin could slit his throat in his sleep.

They’re not nice men, any of them.

The point is, Geoff doesn’t get to go home to Michael or Gavin or Michael-and-Gavin, so he’s here, at the notorious 7 Minutes in Heaven, instead of at home drinking himself into a stupor.

The man that strides toward his booth is an alpha, a glass of scotch in one hand and the bottle in the other. He sets them on the table and gives Geoff a knowing grin.

“Mr. Ramsey, how kind of you to make an appearance at my establishment. Haven’t seen you since you got that new crew together. So, what, three or four years?”

“Five,” Geoff says. “I’m hoping you’ll still live up to my expectations, Burns.”

Burnie’s grin is all teeth. “Well, you know your money’s no good here. Anything you want, on the house. Got a good show for you tonight – Archangel’s coming on in a few minutes, and then it’s Halo up next, and they’re worth watching. Easily worth your money.”

Geoff makes a noncommittal noise, takes a drink of scotch and watches as the lights go up and the music stops for the moment. The omega onstage (has to be an omega, no beta or alpha dancers at 7 Minutes) grabs up the bills on the stage and flounces away with a wave, naked and grinning. He’s in it for the fun of it, Geoff thinks as he watches him, for the thrill.

“Here we go,” Burns says, and the lights go down once more.

“After a two-week hiatus,” the emcee says over the crowd that suddenly seems more vibrant, more alive, “please welcome back to the stage _Archangel!_ ”

A light comes up again, highlighting a single figure on the stage, sitting, back to the pole. His head is down, and his legs are curled up to his chest as some Katy Perry song comes on. As the intro to the song goes on, he slides his hands up behind him, trailing fingers along the pole, and his arms are clad from shoulders to wrists in black lace, legs the same.

The singing starts, the omega lifts his head, and Geoff nearly crushes his glass in his hand.

It’s Michael on the stage, spreading his legs wide and arching his back as he grips the pole and drags himself up. It’s Michael dressed in black lace, spinning to come up to his knees and grind against the pole, giving the crowd a look like it’s the greatest ecstasy he’s ever felt. It’s Michael that’s ducking back down and sliding his body along the floor like he’s desperate for it – sinuous movement of his back, tattoos on full display for anyone to see, before finally pulling himself up by the pole, ass out and head thrown back. It’s Michael that they’re throwing bills onstage for, that turns and grinds his ass back into the pole.

Geoff stands, brushing past Burnie and taking his scotch with him. He sticks to the shadows as he goes, watches as the lights glance off the glitter on Michael’s outfit. He gets close enough that he can see, but not close enough that Michael can see him – he needs to see Michael’s eyes.

There. Tightness around the corners, the same look Michael gets when things get tough on a heist. He’s not doing this for the thrill, he’s doing this because he _has_ to, for some reason.

The chorus starts and Michael peels off one of his long lace gloves, throwing it to the stage, before peeling off the other and running his hands up his own lace-clad chest. Slowly, he peels that away as well, tossing it to the side, and flicks his own nipple, throws his head back and slides down the pole. He hooks his leg around it and spins, drags his hands down himself.

Above him, Geoff hears Katy Perry sing about how there’s no going back.

The next part of the song starts, a rhythmic sound, and suddenly there’s another light on the stage, highlighting a figure in white lace as he crawls across towards Michael.

“And heeeere’s _Halo!_ ” the emcee says over the music, and if Geoff nearly broke his glass before, he’s sure he hears it crack now.

The figure in white lace is Gavin, an outfit almost identical to Michael’s, except that Gavin’s wearing gloves and a top still. Gavin crawls between Michael’s legs and slides his hands up Michael’s thighs. Michael threads his fingers through Gavin’s hair and drags his face down, thrusts his hips up in a dirty pantomime in time with the music. Cheers go up in the crowd as Michael peels away Gavin’s gloves, gets Gavin between his legs and starts to peel away his top too, Gavin’s head tossed back against his shoulder.

There’s glitter on Gavin’s cheeks, Geoff realizes, at the same time he realizes that he’s hard as a rock, watching them together, onstage in front of everyone. Gavin has that same tightness in his eyes though, and he’s seen them hold hands and jump off buildings and not look this stressed.

There’s something going on.

Geoff’s shouldn’t watch anymore. He should be a better man than this, should turn around and walk out of the club and into the night and never mention this again. Instead, he takes a drink of his scotch and keeps his eyes on the stage, where Gavin is slowly dragging down the little lace panties that Michael’s wearing, a little tease.

Michael gives him a stage-shove, towards the crowd, and Gavin goes, drops to his hands and knees, crawling and gyrating along the edge, taking bills that people hand him and stuff in his panties. That’s too much for Geoff to take, and he turns away, strides back towards his booth.

“I want a private show,” he says to Burnie, who’s still standing there, eyes on the stage.

“We’re not that kind of establishment, Geoff,” Burns says with the ghost of a grin.

Geoff takes his wallet out, pulling six hundred dollars out and handing it over. “Tell them I’ll pay double their usual rate.”

Burns’ hand hovers over the money. “They don’t do private shows.”

“Fuck, Burns, I’ll pay whatever I have to, just get them in a room with me!” Geoff practically growls, and Burnie finally acquiesces, takes the money from Geoff and nods to the platinum blond waiter from earlier.

He leads Geoff to a dark little room with a table, a couch, and a pole. He sits and waits, wonders what he’s doing, what exactly he’s thinking here. There’s no way this is going to end well – he should have just left, he thinks as the minutes pass, and considers doing exactly that when the door opens.

Michael strides through, all confidence and aloof surety, followed by a demure Gavin. Michael freezes when he finally sees who’s sitting at the table, stumbles on his heels. He’s wearing a different outfit now, red corset and a red boa, red heels and gloss on his lips. Gavin’s got on white still, a little sheer thing with fake fur along the edges and a little bow at the top.

“What the fuck,” Michael manages, and there’s something akin to fear on his face, cheeks burning.

“Think I should be asking that,” Geoff says, and takes a slow drink of scotch. “How much trouble are you in?”

“Get the fuck out,” Michael snaps.

“A lot,” Gavin confesses quietly. At Michael’s glare, he swallows. “Geoff can _help_ , Michael!”

“Yes, he can,” Geoff agrees.

Michael huffs, crosses his arms. It would look intimidating if he were still wearing his mask and leather jacket, but with the boa, all it does is make Geoff want to bite the column of his throat until it’s marked up as pretty and red as his little corset. Gavin looks… almost ethereal, glittering in the light, all soft and sweet like Geoff knows he can be sometimes.

“We got ourselves in this mess, we can get ourselves out,” Michael says.

“Michael…” Gavin tries, lays a hand on Michael’s arm.

“How much?” Geoff asks, voice low.

“Fuck off,” is Michael’s response, and Geoff sees red.

“How _much_ , Michael?” Geoff snaps, throws a bit of Alpha in his voice. That gets Michael’s attention, gets that flush really going on his cheeks, and Geoff watches as he swallows. They’re a pack, the Fake AH Crew, and to go against his pack Alpha would be a little too much for Michael’s nature.

“…Fifteen million,” Michael confesses.

“ _Jesus_ , Michael!” Geoff snaps.

“It was a bad deal!” Michael argues. “It wasn’t supposed to be, it was supposed to be _cake_ , okay?”

“With who?”

Michael stays quiet.

Geoff growls low in his throat.

“Funhaus,” Gavin says quietly.

“This just gets better and better,” Geoff hisses. “Fine. We’ll pay it tomorrow.”

“The fuck you will,” Michael snaps. “I can’t just let you pay it and pretend it never happened.”

Geoff feels something in his brain switch over in the face of this stubborn boy. “Fine,” he snaps. “You’ll just owe me instead. I won’t have members of _my crew_ indebted to fucking _Funhaus_.”

“And how are we supposed to pay it back?” Michael asks. “You think we’ll be able to stop this? We’ll just have to pay you back, Geoff.” Michael’s eyes narrow and he takes a step forward. “You’re jealous. I know you are, don’t think you can hide it from me.”

“Michael,” Gavin says from behind him.

“You don’t want to be doing this,” Geoff says, leans back in the booth. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe I love this,” Michael snaps, and it’s a lie, Geoff knows.

He’s not a good man, he knows this too.

“Fine,” Geoff says. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll pay off your debt, the two of you dance for me and only me. You’ll live with me, you’ll do it anytime I want.”

Michael’s eyes widen, the flush creeping down his neck now. His mouth falls open into a beautifully perfect ‘o,’ like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you… are you fucking _serious_?”

“As a fucking heart attack,” Geoff snaps. “That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

Gavin steps up, lays a hand on Michael’s arm. “Michael… I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says. “At least for Geoff it’s safe… He won’t…”

They’re giving Geoff far too much credit, he thinks. He’s no saint, that’s for sure.

“Fine,” Michael says, and it’s something like defeat in his voice, but also something like relief. “Fine, whatever… whatever you want, just get us out of here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misunderstandings. Misunderstandings everywhere, and everyone's an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, hit me up at jellyfish-fic.tumblr.com

Geoff gets them out the back door and into the car that’s waiting for him. They’re dressed more like themselves now, Gavin in a big hoodie and dark jeans, and Michael in that leather jacket he loves so much, but Geoff can’t shake the image of the lingerie from his head. He’s an imaginative person, too, so his mind keeps supplying other outfits they could be wearing, things they could wear for _him_.

Gavin sits closest to him, between Geoff and Michael, and keeps his eyes on his phone. Michael refuses to look at Geoff either, gaze firmly out the window. The driver, for his part, asks no questions – he’s a man who’s seen a lot, after all, he’s probably seen far worse than this.

Something catches Geoff’s eye – Gavin’s cheek, sparkling under the passing streetlights. It’s then that it hits them – they were _dancing_ , showing off for alphas other than pack, and suddenly he’s aware of their scents. The scent of the bar is strong, smoke and the mix of other, foreign scents – scents that Geoff _hates_ – but underneath them is Gavin’s sweet hint of vanilla and Michael’s spicy cinnamon.

The glitter is a reminder of what they were doing, and Geoff wants it gone. He lifts Gavin’s head, one hand firm under his chin, and the other coming to his mouth so that he can lick at his thumb. Geoff scrubs at one cheek and then the other, studiously not meeting Gavin’s eyes – it’s not that he doesn’t know he’s an asshole, he just doesn’t know how _not_ to be one.

“Thanks, mother,” Gavin says, a little bit of tease in his voice, though it’s muted, the bite that’s usually there subdued instead. Geoff both loves and hates the way that Gavin’s vulnerable right now – he wants to see that vulnerability, but he wants it to be because of _him_ , because Gavin lets him, not because of some knotheads at a strip joint.

The car pulls into Geoff’s garage and comes to a stop. “This isn’t where we live,” Michael says, the first thing he’s said the entire ride.

“Did you miss the part where you’re the _live-in_ stripper?” Geoff says, and then kind of regrets it when a dark look crosses Michael’s face. Geoff comes to a quick decision. “Fine,” he says. “I’m not a goddamn monster… take the night, talk it over. Either way, I’m paying off the debt, you’re just gonna pay in services or… ‘ _services_.’”

“Fuck that,” Michael snaps. “We took the deal already, didn’t we?” He opens the car door and flounces out, waiting for Gavin to follow before he slams it behind him.

Geoff looks to Gavin. “You want some time?”

Gavin shakes his head, watches as Michael stalks ahead of them. “We’re not _afraid_ of you, Geoff. Michael’s just… we’re _embarrassed.”_

“You shouldn’t be,” Geoff said shortly. “There was definitely a reason people paid you.” He strode forward as well, determined not to look at the look on Gavin’s face at that – he couldn’t help a little glance, though, seeing the way that Gavin’s eyes went wide and his cheeks colored.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse is Geoff leaning against the wall, Gavin fidgeting, and Michael clenching and unclenching his fists in a nervous, almost manic way. Geoff honestly can’t tell if he’s angry or if this is just his response to embarrassment, but the smell rolling off of him is mouth-watering. His own scent is overpowering the lingering scent of the club, overpowering even Gavin’s sweet scent, leaving the air practically choking with cinnamon.

They reach Geoff’s apartment, and honest to God, he’s not sure what to expect. Michael slamming the door behind him was on the list, that’s for sure, but Michael pinning Geoff to the kitchen island was decidedly not, especially when Michael starts sliding to his knees. Geoff expected a punch, not a blowjob.

“Our fucking knight in shining armor,” Michael says, and makes it sound like an insult. “Swooping in to rescue us.”

Michael’s lips are still covered in gloss, Geoff notices, eyes surrounded by some kind of eyeliner and a shimmery dust on his cheeks. He looks fierce, even kneeling there before Geoff, glare on his face and fire in his eyes, and he smells _delicious._

“Wait,” Geoff manages, gets his hands on Michael’s shoulders and stops him from getting Geoff’s zipper down. “Wait, this isn’t what I… you don’t have to _do this_ , Michael, I don’t want you to… feel like you have to.”

Michael snorts, and the look he levels at Geoff is equal parts fond and exasperated. “You think I do a damn thing I don’t want to? This is off the books,” he says. “This is a thank you.”

Gavin drops to his knees beside Michael, and that goddamn glitter is still high on his cheeks, but Geoff is learning to like it when Gavin’s looking up at him like that. Their scents intermingle and smell absolutely alluring together, cinnamon and vanilla mixing together, and Geoff is no saint.

Michael peels away his jacket to reveal metallic fabric underneath, a shiny red halter top. Without the jacket, the jeans slung low on his hips reveal the hint of matching bottoms, and Geoff wants to yank the jeans away. Gavin shrugs off the hoodie to reveal a similar outfit – halter in shimmering green, the tease of matching bottoms below his jeans.

“This isn’t…” Geoff tries again, resolve failing. “I wasn’t looking for…”

“Shut up and let us thank you,” Michael says mildly, probably the least angry thing he’s said all night. “You were there to get your dick wet, right? Our fault you were _unsatisfied_.”

“No unhappy customers,” Gavin murmurs, comes up on his knees to shimmy out of his jeans.

“You don’t _owe_ me this,” Geoff says – a last ditch attempt. He should be stronger than this, should muscle past them and walk away and forget this ever happened. But Michael’s peeling off his jeans as well, and God help him, they’re _skirts_ , short and revealing, creeping up creamy omega thighs.

Geoff is not a good man. He knows this.

When Gavin nuzzles at his thigh, his already-flimsy resolve shatters.

Michael slides his hands up Geoff’s legs, fumbles with the button and zipper on his slacks before finally, finally getting some help from Geoff. Together they get his pants down around his knees, and Geoff is content to let them fall if they may.

They take turns with him, Michael’s determination to get Geoff as far down his throat as possible interspersed with Gavin’s kitten licks on his shaft and tongue circling the head. Geoff grips the counter behind him like he’s not afraid it might break, wants to curl his fingers in their hair but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. It’s only when his knot starts to swell that Michael takes Gavin by the hair and presses his mouth down on Geoff’s cock. Gavin looks up at Geoff through his lashes, eyes watering, and Michael’s eyes are darting between Geoff and his boy, hand curled in Gavin’s hair.

“Jesus fuck,” Geoff breathes. “Gonna-“

“Do it,” Michael says. “He’ll swallow.”

“God _damn_ ,” Geoff manages, and comes in the wet heat that is Gavin’s mouth, grips at the counter behind him and swears he can hear it crack and break.

Gavin sits back on his heels, brings one hand up to swipe across his mouth as he breathes. Michael’s hand slips to his neck and Geoff… Geoff works up the courage to card a hand through Gavin’s hair, which the omega leans into.

He’s wanted this for so long, he has a hard time believing that he’s finally got it. He can smell them, cloying together, and he _wants_ , wants to take them to bed and make it so they never want to leave.

“So,” Michael says, “how much of the debt was that worth?”

It’s like someone slaps Geoff across the face. He pulls his hand away like it’s been burned and fumbles to get his pants up. Of course they don’t want him – he’s a means to their end. He’s the asshole here, he’s not the damn hero.

He’d thought, for a moment… But no. Why would they want him when they had the perfection that was each other?

“You know where the guest room is,” he managed, shoving past them – God help him, they’re still on the floor. He thinks he hears his name as he gets his sorry ass down the hall to his room, but that’s probably wishful thinking too.

The thought of them in those damn shiny skirts plagues him all night. They’re right down the hall, after all, and he can _smell_ them, curled together and around each other, and God, does he want. He wants like a starving man wants a buffet.

Instead of focusing on that, he works on figures. This wasn’t a good idea, Geoff knows, but damn it, here they are. Here they’ll be.


End file.
